My entry, which I realize now that I can post here without being in the guild...
stare Once again, I apologize for my stupidity.
Comrades in Arms
Somewhere in Siberia, June 22nd, 1951. The two KGB guards pulled up to the gate of the Gulag, and honked. The guard in the security house was asleep, and jolted awake hearing the camouflaged truck honk at him. He walked up to the driver’s side door, and shined a flashlight in. Seeing the uniforms which labeled these men as KGB jolted the guard into action. The KGB men needed not say anything. He ran quickly back to the security house, and opened up the gates as quickly as possible, lest the KGB men have some reason to torment him.
They pulled up to one of the prisoner houses, and got out of the truck. They went to the back of it, and pulled down the back door. They shone their flashlights inside, onto their prisoner.
He was obviously German. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, a man Hitler would have been proud of. He was tall, and strong, but as strong as he was, an epitome of the what an Aryan was said to be, despite his dress, which were the rags of a
Wehrmacht uniform.
One of the KGB men remarked to the other “Aryan he may be, but he still surrendered like the German dog he is.” They both laughed. The German, knowing Russian as well as any native speaker, only sneered.
He regretted it soon afterwards. The KGB men took out their clubs and beat at him for his insolence. They then proceeded to drag him out of the truck, tied his hands with rope more tightly than needed, and pushed him into the prisoner house.
“Do you know what tonight is, German dog?” One of the KGB men said to him. “Tonight is the tenth anniversary of your traitorous attack on our glorious Motherland. I would kill you right now for vengeance if Stalin was not so strict about putting you dogs to labor.”
The guard in the prisoner house, unlike the one at the gate, was not asleep. He saw the KGB men, but was not phased by them in the least. “Guess you boys want an empty cell for Hans, here?” The KGB men’s stare said that enough. “Well, we don’t got any. There are a few cells with only one guy in ‘em, so we can put him in one of them.”
The guard led them to one such cell, and opened the door with his keys. The KGB men untied his hands, and tossed him into the cell nonchalantly.
“
Scheisse…” The German said as he rose to his feet and faced the door. To no one in particular. But someone else heard it. “German, eh?” Someone behind him said to him in his native language. The German turned around, and saw whom he presumed to be his new cellmate.
He was, as the German was a typical German, a typical Russian. Lean, dark skinned, dark haired. A Slav by any definition, dressed in the prison garb the German presumed he would soon be wearing.
“A Russian who speaks German?” The German said to the Slav in Russian. “Not that surprising now in days, I suppose.”
“And a German who speaks Russian?” The Slav responded in kind. “Not surprising, either.” The Slav reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a cigarette, offering it to the German. “
Danke,” said the German, accepting the cigarette. The Russian pulled out a match, scraped it on the bottom of his boot, and held it up to the German’s cigarette. The German took a puff, and whistled appreciatively.
“These are quality.” Praised the German. “I had no idea such quality could exist in a Gulag… Where did you get these?” He asked, as he continued to puff on his cigarette.
“Ah, the house guards.” Responded the Russian. “They are a lot more lenient than those KGB bastards. Most of them only do their job in fear of that paranoid freak Stalin. Man of Steel my a**… That man has a heart made of rubber. Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. My name is Nikolai Vlachevi, former member of the Glorious Red Army in Defense of the Motherland.” He said, putting large amounts of venom on the last words. He extended his hand out.
The German took it. “Heinz Fulke, at your service. Previously at the service of the Wehrmacht in Defense of the Great Reich and the Master Race.” he said, putting equal amounts of venom on his words that the Russian did on his. “So, what did you get thrown in here for?“ Heinz asked.
“For nothing at all, really.” Said Nikolai. “But the great ‘Man of Steel’ thought I was a danger to the state, for one reason or another, and hand me thrown in here. You?”
“For organizing resistance in the Soviet Zone.” Heinz responded. “I would have managed to escape the KGB that were hunting me down… But I have an old wound in my leg, from the war. Speaking of that…” Heinz sat down on the flat concrete extension from the wall, which he presumed to be the bed, although it looked like sleeping on the floor would be more comfortable than sleeping on that thing.
“Ha! You are still calling it the ‘Soviet Zone’? Guess you Germans do not want to own up to the fact that your country is split in half.” Heinz sneered at him, but did little more than that, and continued smoking. “Ah, yes. Old war wounds. I have one myself, in my arm. My comrades say they managed to get the bullet out, but I can feel it clinking around in there, sometimes.” Nikolai took out his own cigarette, lit it, and took a few puffs. “So… Which side were you fighting at?”
“Eastern front.” Heinz said, blowing a smoke ring out. “I was with the 6th Army, a sniper,. Second Battle of Kharkov was where I had my first taste of real action… I got sixty seven kills, there. And then, of course, after that, there was Stalingrad, where I got my wound.”
“Ah, yes. Stalingrad. I was there, too. A sniper, as well. I was with the 62nd Army.” Nikolai said, slowly puffing on his cigarette.. “I got my wound there, too. Got one hundred and seven kills there, too.”
“Only twenty-seven for me. Almost as soon as I got there, I got my wound.” Heinz took another puff from his cigarette, then threw it on the ground and crushed it under foot when he realized it was, by that time, nothing but a stub.
“How did you get it?” Nikolai asked, doing similarly with his cigarette. Curiosity sparkled in his eyes.
“There was this Russian sniper, like you.” Heinz began. “He was hunting down any tank commanders he could find, and blowing their heads off before they even knew he was there. Command told me to go take him out. So I went out, following a tank squad, using buildings as cover to make sure no one spotted me. The tank commanders knew about this sniper, and they knew that I was using them as bait, so they were scared out of their minds. No one knew which one would be the one to get hit, so they were all on edge. We reached an area that was filled with collapsed houses, when the shot came. It hit a poor fellow in the middle of the tank line, the youngest tank commander in the squad. Luckily, I saw the flash of the shot, so I dropped prone in a spot where I could take a bead on him, pulled my rifle over to the flash, and put up my scope. The sniper was still there, prone and taking a bead on another tank commander. I guess he saw me moving at the last moment, and he pulled his rifle so that it was facing me. I pulled the trigger, but I guess it was too late. The next thing I noticed was an extreme pain in my leg. I rolled for cover, so that the next shot would not be in my head, and hoped that maybe I hit him with my shot. Since I did not hear the screams of any more tank commanders after that, I guess I did. I was pulled out of Stalingrad, though. My leg was so badly wounded I would not be able to walk on it for at least a year. By the time I could walk again, well, the only thing I could do was sit by and watch Hitler’s glorious idea for a German Empire fall down all around me. Well now, I think it is your turn to tell me your story.”
“Well, my friend.” Said Nikolai. “There is not much story to tell, I would think now. You see, I was a sniper at Stalingrad, as I said. While I was there, my commanders told me to hunt down German tank commanders. So, that is what I had been doing. And the last time I did it, I was in a place with a bunch of collapsed buildings around me.”
Heinz looked at him with a knowing look that said he knew where Nikolai was going with this. “And this time, after you had taken out a young tank commander, you found out too late that such a juicy target was nothing but bait?”
Nikolai nodded. “Yes. I saw movement in a building next to the line of tanks, and swung my scope over there. And I saw a German sniper, drawing a bead on me. And I pulled the trigger, but I guess he pulled his too, for I got a shot in the arm. I was unable to use my arm for a year, so I was pulled out of combat.”
“And I am guessing you never saw that sniper again, right?” Asked Heinz. Nikolai nodded. “Was it because he was in a hospital back in Berlin?” Nikolai nodded once again.
"You know,” Said Nikolai, “I told myself that if I ever found the b*****d who ruined my trigger arm, I would beat the crap out of him. But now, all I want to do is hug him, as a comrade in arms.”
“And I told myself,” Said Heinz, “That if I ever found the b*****d who stopped my service of the Fatherland, I would beat the crap out of him. But now, all I too want to do is hug him, as a comrade in arms.”
And so two men, who nearly a decade ago had met through the scopes of sniper rifles, meet each other once again, but this time they are friends, not enemies. And they embrace each other as comrades in arms.
End
Hope you like my twist on how these two fine fellows met.
I apologize for the lack of indentation. Gaia obviously does not like indentation.
Word Count: 1784, according to WorksProcessor.
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